Old Reliable
by fadedelegance
Summary: Post-"Reality Bites". Connie blames herself for her and Mike not convicting Larry Johnson. Can Mike convince her it's not her fault and cheer her up?


**Disclaimer****: Dick Wolf and NBC own "Law and Order". I don't. **

**A/N****: Thought of this after re-watching one of my favorite season 20 episodes, "Reality Bites". I re-watched it in honor of Linus Roache's birthday, which is February 1. (: **

** That being said, Happy Birthday, sweet Linus! I hope it's wonderful! This one shot is dedicated to him. :) **

**Old Reliable **

_"…and they've asked Arthur Branch to be the judge."_

_ "You're kidding me, right?"_

"Well…no," Mike had answered Jack.

A terribly uncomfortable silence had followed.

Then Jack had said, "Well—guess I'll be repeating myself like a broken record by telling reporters 'No comment' all evening."

"You could say you're not going to discuss the show, only the case. It's drama they're after, so refusing to talk about the show should keep them at bay," Connie suggested softly.

"That's very true," said Jack. "I'd rather not say what I think anyway."

Another uncomfortable silence fell, and Mike and Connie had taken that as their cue to leave.

As the two of them entered Mike's office—

"I don't want to speak ill of the man who let me work in Homicide," Connie said. "But God, really, Arthur? Pure trash like that? Really?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"All I ever received from him was praise and encouragement, but I lost a lot of respect for him after something he said to Jack," she said.

"What did he say?" asked Mike.

"He told Jack that Jack was a great prosecutor—but he'd never be a district attorney."

"That's low," Mike said, obviously disgusted.

"It is, it really is," Connie agreed. "And now after hearing about this _sickening_ reality show and that he's involved? I don't respect him at all anymore."

"Me neither," said Mike. "I can't believe they're making a damn _show._ That's just repugnant. You'd think I'd be used to people's depravity, but I'm not."

"Mike, if you were used to that—if you'd just accepted it—you wouldn't be doing your job. You wouldn't be so _good_ at your job, you know what I mean?" said Connie.

"Yeah," Mike said softly, deeply flattered.

They looked at each other for a moment, his gaze interlocked with hers.

Then, as much as she didn't want to, Connie looked down, breaking their eye contact.

"You know, you can say it, Mike," she said.

"Say what? What're you talking about?" Mike asked gently.

"I tanked our case," Connie said.

"What?"

"I completely tanked it," Connie said. "I should've known better than to hold my notepad like that on camera. Kramer and his band of sleazebags jump at drama like piranhas during a feeding frenzy. It should've occurred to me that they would comb through everything they shot and air what they thought was the juiciest. I mean, the producer talking to one of the prosecutors? Definitely juicy. It should've occurred to me that the defense would take just as much interest in the show as us. Like you said—we had everything we needed, they were groping around in the dark…And I gave them exactly what they needed. I should've been more careful. I'm sorry…"

"No," Mike disagreed gently. "Connie, you explicitly told Kramer to talk to you with the cameras off. It's not your fault he didn't listen. This is on him, not you. If he'd done as you said, Johnson and his attorney never would've been able to tip off Shiner. It's not your fault."

Connie met his gaze. His handsome face bore a tender expression. She loved it when he looked at her like that.

"I couldn't stand Johnson's attorney, either," Connie then said. "You should've heard her during arraignment—'It's not Mr. Johnson who'll suffer. It's his children'. Oh please. As if you cared about them. You defended their father. Talk about luck of the public defender draw. Those two were a match made in heaven."

Mike snorted derisively and shook his head.

Connie sighed.

"What a mess," she said.

"Tell me about it," Mike agreed. "And I get the feeling you're still blaming yourself for the way things turned out," he added.

"You caught me," Connie admitted.

Mike took a step closer to her.

"Connie," he said warmly, "please don't. It's not your fault."

He was looking at her in that special way again—his feelings showing on his face.

She looked back at him, feeling a rush.

"You know what usually helps me?" Mike then asked her.

"What?" Connie asked, intrigued.

Smiling, Mike went over to his desk and picked up his favorite care-worn baseball.

"This," he said. "Here," he added.

Knowing he meant to let her hold it, Connie held out her hand, and Mike placed the baseball right in her palm.

Connie enclosed it in her fingers and smiled.

"'Old reliable', huh?" she gently bantered with him.

Mike smiled.

"Pretty much," he said.

"Where'd you get it, Mike? I don't think I've ever asked you that," Connie said.

Mike's smile broadened, making his dimples stand out even more—which made Connie feel weak.

"I caught it," he said happily.

"Really?" Connie asked, finding herself smiling.

"Yeah!" Mike replied. "I was eight years old, and it was the first major league baseball game I'd ever been to: the Yankees against the Tigers. My mom took me—for no particular reason. She just…did."

"Because she loves you, Mike—that's why," Connie said warmly.

"Yeah—you're right," Mike said, still smiling. "So it was the eighth inning, and the Yankees were batting. Then, the next thing I know, the ball is zooming right at me, and my mom's calling out to me, 'Michael—catch it, sweetheart', so I reached out, and I caught it, right in my mitt!"

Connie grinned.

"Mike, that's wonderful!"

Mike grinned, as well, taking the breath right out of her.

"Thank you!" he said. "It wasn't this mitt, though," he added, nodding at the mitt resting on his desk. "I used that one in high school when we won the state championship. It just became lucky for me after that—just like that baseball did when I was eight."

Connie smiled again.

"Mike, thank you," she said sincerely. "Really. You really cheered me up."

She looked down at the baseball, one of Mike's most prized possessions. It was still resting in her gentle grip. She then looked up at Mike, and their eyes met.

"You're very welcome," Mike said tenderly. "I'm so glad I did."


End file.
